My Dear Holmes
by Scarlett Red Rose
Summary: Every time you tried to make things right again between us the wound your words had given me would rapidly fester and I left you again, and again, and again. Each time a little bit of me died... The sequel to "Beacon's Guiding Light".
1. Here We Go Again

September 2004

My Fellow Sherlock Holmes Fans,

"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." So spoke the ever immortal Sherlock Holmes.

Yet I wonder if even _he_ might have wondered about these mysterious emails. I have examined them up, down, backwards, forwards, left, right, inside, outside, etc, etc, etc. I have sent it to various acquaintances without success. I have even written back to the good doctor only to have him reply with another cryptic message: _You will know when the time comes_.

Know what? What time? He never replied.

He also said in his email: _Please tell your acquaintance that I learned to use a computer because Holmes thought they would help us in our cases. Unfortunately, I am only able to send emails and type up my stories for I am thoroughly befuddled about the rest of the machine! Rest assured, however, I do mean to learn…as soon as I learn how to type with more than two fingers!_

Poor Watson, always degrading himself. He also went on to mention that they had acquired such a machine from Mycroft and Holmes, at first, refused to use it! After much cajoling Holmes used it and found it quite entertaining, though he didn't say so in as many words.

But I digress.

As I've stated before, I am the good doctor's "editor" and publisher. Why he chose me, why he chooses to send his work via email, and why he uses such cryptic messages I'm sure only he could answer.

As Holmes would say, "The game is afoot!"

Most sincerely yours,

Scarlett Red Rose

Postscript: As I was drawing this letter to its conclusion I was alerted to another email. In this Watson said that he was learning more of the basics of the computer and doing exceedingly well at it. Although, he hastens to add, it is rather difficult with a hawk-eyed critic at his shoulder!

SRR


	2. My Dear Holmes

_My Dear Holmes,_

_You told me, once, when I was young, that human beings are not animals. You said it with such scorn and anger that I became almost afraid of you. The thought that my mentor had been disappointed by a student so desperate to please was not only mortifying but painful as well. But you realized how much you could loose; how much I needed you and so you came back to me. You've said before that a quick mind is worthless unless it can control its emotions as well._

_How then, do you explain the drops of rain that fell from me after reading your letter? How do you deduce the almost tortured, beast-like screams that poured from me? And is it really elementary if the sound of the gunshot as I raced into your cottage caused me to fall, choking on my tears, beside your body?_

_Your words immediately after Ronnie's death stung like a shot in the heart. The quick mind I thought I could control slipped out of my grasp and I left you._

_I left you._

_I left you._

_I left you._

_No matter how many times you write those three words they still burn._

_I had no intention of where to go after I stormed out of your house so I stopped inside my barn. Thankfully, Patrick was elsewhere so I was alone when I realized what I had done and was appalled. The yapping lapdog had betrayed the bear while the enemy was preparing to kill it. Half on instinct, half a wish for past deduction games to return (_R, Find me. –H._) I fled to one of your bolt-holes._

_I stayed there for sometime. I was almost fearful that, if I left, you would come there, and, since I wasn't there, give up the search. But eventually I removed myself from it._

_Every time you tried to make things right again between us the wound your words had given me would rapidly fester and I left you again, and again, and again._

_Each time a little bit of me died._

_By the time I realized my utter stupidity it was too late. The words of your letter touched the wound and healed it. Realization hit me and I drove as quickly as I could to your cottage (don't worry, I left all the oaks as they were). My hand was on the doorknob when the shot rang out. Contrition flung to the wind I dashed to your laboratory to find you shivering in your own blood. The lapdog bowed before the bear._

_"Holmes…Holmes, it's Russell…" My hand moved of it's own accord and ran gently down your left cheek. Your eyes fluttered open and the look you gave me made the tears only fall harder._

_"Ru-Russ? Why… How…" I held a finger to your lips._

_"Because you are the greatest mentor-the greatest father-that I have ever known and I- I-" My voice choked as you weakly stroked my own cheek._

_"You wh-what?"_

_I looked deep in your eyes and saw the love not only of a teacher, but also of a lover._

_"And I love you."_

_Your straying hand gripped my chin and pulled me down toward your face but it wasn't needed. I knew what I wanted-had wanted-since the moment I had laid eyes on you. Nothing more could I have hoped for, you told me without words how much you loved me._

_When we parted you gave me a seldom seen smile and a look in your eyes that conveyed everything you had and would ever teach me. Then, with a sigh, your eyes slipped closed and reality crashed down on me._

_After that almost everything is a blur. I remember the police dragging me away from you, trying to get me to stop crying. People I had never seen came and tried to offer consolation but nothing helped. The dream returned and intermingled with nightmares of you. I'm sure I looked dead the day of your funeral._

_Holmes, this is worse then the time we acted out separation to confuse Donleavy because I know this is not an act. I need you. I'm a part of you and you're still a part of me._

_I don't think I can do this much longer…_

A Note to the Reader:

This letter, obviously to Sherlock Holmes, remains unsigned and, to some, unfinished. Mary Russell is thought to be "_merely a figment of…imagination_", made up by a desperate author and sent to her editor in the hope of some cold hard cash. According to the works of Ms. Laurie R. King, Holmes does not commit suicide nor does Russell. There is no evidence that Mary Russell ever wrote this letter or, in fact, even existed.

But then, as Ms. King tells us later, there is no proof that she did not.

* * *

Quote taken from: _Prelude: Author's Note_ at the beginning of _The Beekeeper's Apprentice_. 


	3. Once Again

October 2004

My Fellow Sherlock Holmes Fans,

Mrs. Hudson would gasp at its dusty corners. Doctor Watson would look around worriedly for any horror that might befall. And Sherlock Holmes would look at the emptiness and prepare to write a monologue on the difference between dirt and dust.

I speak of my inbox. For weeks there has been nothing and I was thrown into a panic. What if the good doctor had been killed? What if he'd been driven insane by the computer? What if Holmes had suddenly disappeared and Watson had to find him? What if my fans killed me before he could reply to my desperate email? However, much to my relief, Watson replied almost immediately.

_After reviewing your desperate case I have realized that the blame lies partly with me. I have been so intrigued by this newfangled machine that I have neglected to send any more of my precious articles. Forgive me, but they are quite personal and I have a rather hard time giving them up. Don't worry. More shall arrive soon…_

_ Also, tell your friend that I shall make haste to purchase the book _Microsoft Windows For Dummies_ via an online store… just as soon as I receive a credit card to purchase it with! Holmes has also recommended it so I have lost any worrying over my "level of intelligence"…_

So, hopefully, the next installment of _The Lost Cases_ (Watson's romanticisms must be rubbing off on me) will be soon. Maybe Watson will send it soon enough that it can be up by Halloween. One can only hope.

Most sincerely yours,

Scarlett Red Rose


End file.
